Leave You
by CarrionEater
Summary: Starscream always has a plan, but timing has never been Carrion's specialty. Contains violence, and of course the OMC.


Leave You

(or, The Very Sad Story of How Carrion Left the Decepticons)

It was less than a minute. So many things in life hinged on moments like this, split-second decisions with a million variables that simply couldn't be processed within the confines of the time available before action had to be taken. His life in particular seemed built entirely on such moments; most of his choices were fast made and barely processed before he was doing something. Impulsive, probably stupid.

But he wasn't thinking of that. He wasn't thinking of anything except that there was an opening, and in five-point-three-four-eight seconds it would close and he would have lost his chance. Five-point-three-four-eight. The number would stick with him, probably for the rest of his life.

He knew, setting out, that this whole thing was very likely to be a folly. He'd probably take a few dents or scratches, and Starscream would be aggravated and annoyed. The battlefield was hard enough for him to operate on, still unaccustomed to keeping his thoughts processing straightly with so much very deadly stimuli around him. Add to that the need to pretend to follow one plan while subtly engaging in another and you put Carrion in the position of very definitely getting hurt. But the older jet had this… ability with him, this way of talking that had nothing to do about being his _Commander_ and everything about being _Starscream_, and in the end it had been his own decision to agree to this terrible, wonderful, exciting idea.

Starscream was not in position for their plan. It wasn't time. But five-point-three-four-eight seconds diminished rapidly, and if he did this right the Starscream wouldn't _need_ to be in position, he'd have all the time he needed to get his aft in position. He just had to move. Move _now_.

Five-point-three-four-eight seconds became two-point-seven-one by the time he did move. It would have to be fast, he knew, and stealthy. Fast he was good at. Stealth… well, five-point-three-four-eight seconds don't offer much preparation for stealth, much less two-point-seven-one. It would have to be enough.

He darted through the opening provided, having to twist in the end to keep from getting crushed by two of the larger, very distracted mechs engaged on the battlefield. The twist threw him off, sending him off his fly-by course and onto a collision course. He had to correct himself with less than two seconds remaining in his allotted time.

No time to see where Starscream was. No time to think about what a really bad decision this had been. Barely enough time to keep from flying directly into Megatron.

_Stay out of his reach_, Starscream had said. He'd been rather pressing with that little nugget of advice. Okay, so it was an order, but still. He'd reiterated it and rephrased it twenty-seven different ways. And it was a great idea, because Carrion was pretty attached to his life. And having all his limbs. Unfortunately, cannon already aimed and ready, there was now no way to avoid getting in grabbing range. No way to stop this idiotic action.

Time was funny after that for a while. His cannon went off, the flare of it hitting a nearby figure bright and slow. He heard a shout of rage. A very loud shout. Much too close. He felt himself grabbed, armor crumpling under a too-tight grip, pulled backwards to come face to face with rage incarnate. "_You_." The word growled right at him, but he couldn't process the meaning of the frequency until he was, rather suddenly, on his back. Something was broken when he slammed into the earth; his head crashed into the ground, catching his weight before the rest of him hit, and ohh it hurt. Hurt so bad it was hard to process; but he needed too; something was coming, something was _there_, lurking above him.

Claws on him, Megatron's face again (or was that from before?), words that later he thought might have been "treacherous scrap", a brutal slam back into the ground. He felt like he was being smothered, his chest-plate compressing on his spark-chamber as his body broke and sank down, only to be wrenched back up. This would be it, he knew. He'd be crushed this time.

Bright lights, another snarl from the enraged mech above him. He felt the blasts of someone else's laser cannon shake the so-called 'Lord' as his armor was further crushed and ruined. He was thrown back to the ground, a careless (or scrap-it, maybe it was intentional, who knew?) foot pulverizing one of his splayed arms. Dazed, thoughts seeming to float through a sea of static, he remained where he lay. Closed his optics and thought about how good _offline_ sounded.

Someone grabbed him again, lifting him easily off the ground and getting him on his feet. He stumbled and instinctively tried to push away, but they shoved him, merciless, insistent. Burning red optics, sharp jerky shoves, snarling, too-high-pitched growl. He cut through the static a little because this was familiar: Starscream. "_Fly_, you idiot," the Air Commander growled, and from the sound of his voice, not for the first time. So he did.

Transforming was painful, and he'd never experienced that before. Fear and pain fought as he tried to switch into his jet form, fear in the end the stronger emotion. His mangled arm integrated in awkward and interesting ways, but he was still capable of getting off the ground, and so off the ground he went. The flight path was a little jerky, his wings uneven and trying to make him list to the right, but Starscream was fast outstripping him and that gave him something to aim for.

He was never able to unscramble to flight back to the Decepticon base. At one point he's fairly certain something in him failed and he began to lose altitude, until (he thinks, or maybe it was a bug in the scrambled memory) something hit him, giving him a clear enough head to regain the lost ground and keep moving forward. The whole patch of memory is corrupt, too damaged for further recovery, and that's probably okay.

Landing was rough and he was uncharacteristically clumsy, and he probably would have ended up on his knees on the hangar floor if Starscream hadn't grabbed him. Not in a gentle way, because, hey, this is Starscream. It was less a grab, really, and more a violent clutching; sharp claws digging into beaten, already wounded metal and whipping him around to face the irate Seeker.

"What the _slag_ did you think you were doing?"

He struggled in that grip, a harsh whine leaving him without his consent. "_Hurts_, lemme go."

The other jet snarled, jerking him closer, claws shifting into more tender locations. "Whose fault is that, you imbecile? Hmmm? Do you have _any_ idea what you've done?" A slight shake, forcing him to focus on the Air Commander's enraged optics. He didn't want to. The anger there, the unmitigated rage, was all for him. "I had a _plan_, you scrap-headed fool! _We_ _had a __**plan**_."

Starscream was a difficult mech to get close to; some might say nearly impossible. He was unpredictable, bitter, calculating and full of rage. Carrion calculated that he was one of very few life forms to have ever gotten as close to the infamous seeker as he was. Knowing that made it all the more awkward to admit his failure and his voice came out in a dazed stutter, "I-I was ah, only t-trying to-"

"_Trying_?" the Air Commander roared, his voice losing a good deal of its well-known nasal quality in the raise of volume. The claws buried in Carrion's shoulders finally were removed, but it was to little satisfaction as the palms of those same hands shoved against his craggy, ruined chest plate, pushing him off balance. He landed hard in a heap, the jarring motion putting a flash of static through his processor once again. "Did I ask you to _try_ anything, Carrion?"

Truthfully, it was easy to see why Starscream was such a feared force. His anger was heavy, oppressive, almost a physical thing. Having never had it directed full force at himself before, Carrion felt a quiver run through him at the sight of the other mech prowling toward him. "No, but I just-"

Optics flashing maliciously, Starscream bent down and dragged the smaller jet off the floor, just as easily as he had on the battle field, and nowhere near as gently. Claws finding easy purchase in the punctures left in his armor from Megatron, he hefted the other mech to his own eye level, and malevolent sneer pulling at his mouth. "You just what? Thought you had a better plan, Carrion? Thought you _knew better_?"

"There was an opening, I tr- I thought you would want…"

"What I would _want_," Starscream snarled, giving the other a little shake, "Is for my subordinate to be able to execute a simple string of commands without _slagging them up_." He dropped the smaller mech, wheeling away and taking several heavy, tense steps away from him. This time Carrion managed to remain on his feet, good arm coming up to clutch at the injured one, watching his Commander in uncommon silence.

"Why is it _so hard_," the other expelled, throwing his arms down in a violent gesture of disgust, "for _anyone_ to just _do_ as I _say_?"

For a moment the larger seeker was so still, allowing Carrion to mistake his quiet for a return of some calm. He approached quietly from the side, coming to stand a few paces away and holding his hand up in a complacent motion. "Commander, I only meant to give you the upper hand," he said softly.

Very quietly, the sound of metal clicking against metal as Starscream balled his claws into fists, posture becoming tenser. Carrion had enough time to regret having come so close to the enraged seeker before he was slammed into the nearest bulkhead, one of those fists pressing hard into the metal just to the side of his head, the other clenching tightly around what would have been the wrist of his injured arm, pulling it up and pressing it against the wall, creating a horrendous sense of stress and pressure that made him wish the limb was _gone_, because that would be better. He tightened his facial gears, unable to make a sound for the hurt.

"Is there _anything _worthwhile in that helmet of yours?" the larger mech hissed, voice low and deadly. "Can you not see that 'giving me the upper hand' would have been following my orders?"

Carrion was not stupid, truly. He was impulsive and at times short sighted, but he wasn't the idiot his comrades tended to write him off as. Getting into a fight with Starscream was asking for very bad damage to be done unto himself. But it was hard, with as much pain as he was in, to keep himself in an appeasing mindset. "I j-just did what seemed best at the time," he managed to gasp, trying valiantly not to sound petulant.

A myriad of emotions chased themselves in subtle nuances on Starscream's face, not a single one pleasant or forgiving. "Then you are every bit the short-sighted sparkling you look," he snarled. The pressure around his injured arm increased, and for a second he thought Starscream would take a leaf from Megatron's book and rip it off. Suddenly the thought of the injured limb being gone wasn't so pleasant, and he couldn't help struggling a little in that grip. The motion only seemed to anger the other more, but after a second or two he pushed away from Carrion, stalking away.

That was an invitation to leave, Carrion thought. And it would be best to get out of here while the getting was good, because he had enough repairs to make already, and it would be better to get that under control now. Before he needed to find a hole to hide in when Megatron made it back here. But as always, his mouth was light years ahead of his processor, and he realized it was running far, far too late.

"It would be _great_," He was saying, and already wishing he could withdraw the words from the air, "if you'd quit acting like I fragged your plan on purpose."

Those were not words that should have left his mouth. They probably should not even ever have gotten into his head. But now voiced, he felt trapped. He could hardly pretend he'd said anything else. Running would have been a really great idea in that moment. Especially since, for whatever strange reason, the larger jet didn't immediately try to take his head off. No, instead, he pinned Carrion in place with a glare, optics narrowing down to thin red slits. "_What_?"

The rumbling syllable hung in the air, highlighting the way neither of them were moving. The notion of trying to take that back passed through his frazzled head, but something in his basic programming rebelled at it. All he'd done was try to speed Starscream's plan along a little, and _yes_, things had gone wrong – _ohh,_ had they gone wrong, and he had the damage to prove it – but he wasn't some slag-headed idiot. He would never try to double cross the Air Commander, and it was exceptionally unfair that he was getting treated like he'd done this on purpose.

"W-well it's the truth," He said, forcing himself past the embarrassing stutter that wasn't entirely sourced from whatever trauma his processor had undergone. "I was trying to help you."

Despite the interesting new curses Carrion had picked up from browsing human databases, and there were a lot of them, there weren't enough to voice the level of mistake he'd just dug himself into. In the moment before Starscream moved, he recognized that.

With a snarl, the larger seeker was once again towering over him, a fist raised and shaking with the force of will it took not to slam into Carrion's face. For the second time that day, the young jet honestly thought he would be ended then and there. In fact, the shudder that went through him as Starscream embedded that fist in the wall behind him almost convinced him that he'd been hit. But in death there would be no barely controlled seekers with their claws digging into you. There was a grotesque squalling as claws scraped across undented metal, eventually finding purchase in some previous wound and digging in lightly, pushing him back further against the wall.

"Megatron may be an idiot, but he's far from blind," the Air Commander growled, his voice low and dangerous. "He knows we…" A pause, the logic for which Carrion could only imagine, and with the claws in his chest tensing, his imagination wasn't properly working. "He knows _why_ you shot him, and he won't bother with a scrap like you. It will be me he comes for. So tell me again how disobeying my strict orders was _helping_ me, Carrion. Please. I'm curious."

Struggling was futile, but he could hardly help it. Cornered and threatened, he writhed against the hand the held him, keeping his mouth shut against any words that might spring to mind and trying his best not to meet the other's glaring gaze. This was tolerated for only a moment, after which the fist that had been embedded in the wall relaxed, claws scraping along his face to tilt his jaw up, forcing him to meet Starscream's narrow red optics. "Nothing to say, Carrion?" he purred, tone promising agony, scaring the smaller seeker into stillness. The smaller jet had heard Starscream speak to others this way, falsely kind. It never boded well. "No more clever comments?"

Engine revving, Carrion tried to quickly process an appropriate response, something that wouldn't end with getting himself fragged. "_Please_," He ground out, shuddering in an attempt to keep still. "Y-you _asked _for my help."

The claw on his face dragged back up toward his optics before suddenly jerking away, whole hand coming back down to violently grab hold of his face. "I asked for you to follow my orders," the infuriated seeker shouted. "I asked for your obedience! I _never_ asked for your _help_!"

A low growl from Starscream, the grip on his face tightening, something working on his face like pain or intense focus, which Carrion, unable to speak for the metal against his mouth, could only guess at. "I don't know _why_ you can't just _listen_ when I give you an order," Starscream muttered darkly. "You always have something to _add_, don't you?"

The claws in Carrion's chest twisted slightly, and the young seeker couldn't help the weak shout of pain he expelled against Starscream's hand, arching toward him in hopes that the sensation would stop. Abruptly, the larger mech backed off, his claws leaving Carrion, letting him slouch back against the wall, optics aimed at the ceiling. It should have been enough; he should have known better than to even try speaking again, but he couldn't help it. Silence was, and probably always would be, beyond him… and when he was so hurt, it was all the harder to mind his processor. "_I _don't know why you keep _hurting_ me," he said weakly, finally looking at the other.

For a moment Starscream only looked at him, as if unable to process the words that continued to dribble from his mouth. And honestly, Carrion would always have a bit of trouble with that line himself. It was feeble, humiliating, revealing everything any sound-minded Decepticon would have buried deep in the pit of himself and never let out. It was _insecure_.

"I mean, it's not like I fragged your plan and then ran off laughing." He kept going, maybe trying to cover the previous words, maybe just because he couldn't stop. "I _wanted_ to do right for you. You don't need to keep trying to rip me apart."

That seething silence from Starscream was not a good sign. In fact, Carrion so expected another wave of abuse that he actually braced for it, and was surprised when Starscream just threw another violent gesture at the ground, voice a furious shriek. "_Hurting you_?" He screamed, optics wide with indignation. "You think I'm _hurting you_? You know _nothing_ of pain, Carrion."

"Uh, hello," Carrion said, stepping away from the wall at last, glaring back at Starscream. It was easy to grab a natural emotion like anger and push all the confusion and fear into it, than it was to try rationalizing the logic of feeding Starscream's wrath with argument. "Do I normally look like this? Our _Lord_ tried to scrap me, in case you didn't notice."

"Perhaps I should have let him," the older jet ground out. "Selfish, arrogant sparklings require harsh lessons." A momentary silence, filled with the sound of metal clicking together as he clenched his claws into fists. "Perhaps I should leave you to his wrath yet."

Whatever emotion showed on Carrion's face seemed to please the other seeker, earning a cruel smile. "You," Carrion tried to start, fear creeping back in over his anger, the two emotions feeding each other. "I don't matter, you said. He'll go after you."

Intimidating even without touching him, Starscream's smile withered back into a snarl. "And why should I allow it? I can certainly convince the idiot I had nothing to do with your broken processor."

"You can't," Carrion tried, his tones coming out more desperate than argumentative. "He knows already. You said-"

Very suddenly, Starscream's face was mere inches from his own, all the hot rage and murderous fury in inescapable proximity. "Why?" The Air Commander shrieked. "Tell me _why_ I should protect you, you ungrateful scrap."

At the time, it seemed inconsequential. They had never argued like this before, but there had been disagreements. There had never been so much pain involved on Carrion's end, but he honestly did not believe that things would change from the norm. He trusted in the cycle of things too much to recognize the pivotal position he was suddenly in. And he was tired of sounding weak, of sounding beaten and childish. He was tired of hearing Starscream shouting at him, tired of being accused of incompetence and being scared that he was going to be scrapped. He just wanted to patch himself up and wait for this argument to be old enough that they could pretend it hadn't happened.

Somehow, he managed to meet Starscream's burning red optics, and say evenly, "I don't need to be protected."

Furious, so angry he seemed to be vibrating with it; Starscream paused for just a moment, before speaking. "Then I suggest you run," he growled, voice heavy and scathing, "because when Megatron returns here, he won't find me waiting. I'll return from battle later, a useful contributor. Having _nothing_ to do with you."

It was a bluff, Carrion thought, and the ridiculousness of it forced a laugh out of him. That had always been a problem for him among the other Decepticons, that laughter. Sure enough, Starscream's optics narrowed, claws lashing out suddenly to shove him back against the wall, shocking the sound away.

"Do you think I'm joking?" He raged, bent down close to Carrion's face. "If he finds you here, you _will_ go offline. And I will watch him put you there."

Feeling bitter, Carrion used his good arm to push the other jet away. Surprisingly, though at the time Carrion hardly noticed the novelty, Starscream did nothing to rebuke him for it. "Fine. Like I said, I don't need your _protection_. There are plenty of places to wait for this to blow over at."

Behind him, Starscream gave a little noise, the sound derisive and mocking. "Oh no, _sparkling_," he said, spitting the last word with venom, "if you run, you won't be coming back. Megatron's grudges last a long time… and mine longer."

Carrion refused to look back over his shoulder at the other, but he could feel the older seeker's optics boring holes into his back.

"If you run, you had better hope the Autobots are feeling merciful, because they're the only ones who will take scrap like you in."

Feigning indifference, Carrion forced himself to move toward the hangar gates. He didn't need Starscream to tell him that joining the Autobots was very likely just a long version of suicide. They'd be pitted against each other. He had no choice, however. He wouldn't give the satisfaction of another attempted apology.

And still, he paused at the gates.

Starscream's voice mocked him. "Second thoughts, Carrion?"

"Frag yourself," the younger seeker growled, and jumped out into open space. It still hurt to force his body to compact and contort into his alt mode, but with the anger and bitterness on his side, it was much easier to combat that.

Turning a fast inside loop, he saw Starscream standing at the hanger gates, glaring at him. That image, rapidly diminishing as he rushed away from the Decepticon base, was the last of Starscream that he would see for a very long time.


End file.
